


Concerning Voids and Weeds

by Myceratops



Series: Dammit Geralt I'm a bard not an assassin! [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dishonored AU, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Mess, M/M, Outsider!Geralt, Pre-Slash, and gods, assassin!Jaskier, geralt is a lil shit, it's the witcher but with tech, no beta we die like npcs, part of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myceratops/pseuds/Myceratops
Summary: Jaskier gets a new nickname after an embarrassing moment while sneaking around Cintra, the Witcher does not let him live it down, and here he thought he could get a good nights sleep.Dishonored AU
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Dammit Geralt I'm a bard not an assassin! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627690
Comments: 7
Kudos: 93





	Concerning Voids and Weeds

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the kick started of my dishonored witcher AU series, this is just a oneshot, not a part of the multi chapter fic that is coming.
> 
> if you haven't played Dishonored or are unfamiliar with it some of the basics is you play as a man framed for an assassination and a being called The Outsider gives you magical powers to fix everything. It's possible to beat the game not killing a single enemy and you are encouraged to do so, or you can get evil endings. so yes, jaskier is corvo, geralt is the outsider, don't worry, he will eventually get his name

"Bit on the nose, isn't it?"

"Hmm,"

"Yeah, I thought so too, I mean I'm surprised nobody has figured it out by now, tell me, is all of Cintra this dim?" Jaskier huffed dramatically and leans back to prop himself against a nearby jagged rock that for now is serving as a wall, seeing as this place doesn't have walls let alone a visible bottom, a concept he is trying very _very_ hard to not think about thank you very much. "Should I be offended?" He asks his companion who is lazily hovering some feet off the ground, not even facing Jaskier. "Granted they all know me as Julian Alfred Pankratz," he grumbles "Only one who ever calls me Jaskier feels like lady Cirilla,"

“Sounds like you got lucky bard,”

“Ah, always right my friend, I revel in being under the knife of the royal torturer while the whole time he’s tearing out my nails he can not even be bothered to call me by the right name,”

“Hmm,”

Jaskier exhales heavily, the sound coming across as more of a raspberry “Not the worst thing it is, to be called by my birth name,” Jaskier purses his lips “Not the best either, I hold Ciri’s namesake to me in high regard, i don’t wish for it to be forgotten,”

The Witcher shifts at the forlorn sigh the bard lets out, his brow furrows briefly at the mention of the girl. "Be thankful it wasn't a bed of buttercups lark," the face half turns, a quirk of the visible mouth as an eye with no colour cuts the bard with a glance "No need to test their floral knowledge,"

“Why didn’t I snatch that name up for myself? _Dandelion_ , wondrous name for a bard, a title which would fit me like a glove dear Witcher, but for this hogwash assassin nonsense? Ah well, couldn’t attempt to take it for my own personal career could I?” an impish grin grows upon his face to direct at what very well might be the only other… thing here.

“No surprise if you went through with such a foolish act,” The Witcher faces him fully now, expression seemingly blank but Jaskier physically feels the amusement coming from him. It is akin to hums and vibrations in the air, the void. This place does not exist the way other things do, makes sense that even these simple things are different here.

_Oh._

He has the most lovely eyes Jaskier thought not for the first time. The first time he came here he wondered why there were no stars, which in hindsight was a silly thing to think, this place doesn't exist the same way Jaskier exists or Cintra. They say the Witcher sees everything and knows all, a load of rubbish to Jaskier but he can understand why in a poetic sense, the void my not have stars but there are galaxies in those eyes, Jaskier would be not amiss to think the nights sky over city and world are one in the same of the Witcher, always staring and always there. Even when you can't see them they remain.

"Wat?" Jaskier says intelligently.

The Witcher, a far greater wordsmith than the bard himself says "Hmm," the man squawks indignantly against his rock-wall, knowing better than to think the Witcher meant anything other than mockery.

Jaskier scowls and does not look at the silver haired creature, trying to will away the heat rising in his cheeks. Embarrassment was always a horrible look on him "Yes thank you that cleared everything up, I'm honored to be graced with your infinite wisdom," irritation has started to replace the embarrassment.

"At least you have some form of grace," and my god the not-man is smiling, it's not huge but it's the most emotion Jaskier has ever seen on his face aaaaand he's facing Jaskier fully now. His blush returns with a vengeance.

If he smiled more maybe he wouldn't be as feared.

"I'm sure you are well aware that a few worship you, yes?" Jaskier nods at the answering grunt "Can't say I understand the appeal,"

"The same could be said for the ones who willingly part from their coin to hear you play," the Witcher says off handedly.

"Oi-" whatever Jaskier planned to say was swallowed up along with him at the vague gesture the Witcher makes with his hand, the rock the human had been leaning against vanishing in a swirl of smoke, dragging him back and over the edge, weightlessness taking hold.

_Everyone’s a critic_ , he thought hysterically before the realization that he was indeed not on solid ground caught hold.

If you ask Jaskier he most definitely did not scream not unlike a woman. He did shriek in terror however, not that he'd admit that either. The fall seemed to stretch forever and it might very well have, who's to say? His descent is suddenly halted with a face full of subtle scent and surprisingly soft ground. Ha, ground, in this place? Unlikely.

A soft, almost inaudible chuckle vibrates straight through the air when Jaskier spits out the silky texture that was in his mouth, it reminds him of dirt and plants. Wait.

Oh. Oh that _absolute dick head._

"You must think yourself clever do you?" Jaskier scowled, spitting out more buttercups as he pushed himself up onto his knees, bunches of soft yellow caving beneath his weight.

"Hmm,"

“I’m begging to think you enjoy screwing with me you bloody physcophant,” he hisses at the figure once again hovering nearby, much closer this time "Oh _fuck you_ , honestly, the first drop of color I see in this godforsaken place and it's all for my own expense, you sir need a nap,"

"I can't sleep,"

"Well I could try to acquaint you to the concept if only I had my lu-" Jaskier turns to see what looks just like his own lute besides him nestled in the flowerbed of buttercups, a lute that was not there before. He glares up at the Witcher, much closer than before "Do not think I won't bash you over the head with this, tis not my lute, not really, I shall not mourn its demise,"

"You would,"

"Yes I would but I'd do it," when the Witcher huffs again in what might be a laugh Jaskier feels heated again, this time slightly more angry at the needling "I will! I swear! You don't think I'll hit a god?" He pulls himself up to stand, left hand wrapping around the neck of the lute as he goes. "I am not afraid of you,"

"Hmm," and before the bard can wallop him over the head the Witcher continues, feet lowering toward the ground in front of Jaskier "You really aren't, are you?"

The man stumbles back, lute clutched to his chest as the Witcher touches the ground, the illusion of floating not leaving him, buttercups start to wilt in front of his eyes where the man with stars in his eyes touches, the image is both terrifying and wonderful in his perspective.

"Ah," words fail, for a poet this is not ideal but Jaskier cannot be blamed for the audible swallow he makes when the Witcher takes a step toward him, flowers dying in his wake. The Witcher pauses just over an arms length away from him, head cocking slightly as his gaze flickers away from Jaskier, how he knows that with no indicator for an iris is impossible to answer.

Jaskier watches as the Witcher very slowly stalks around him entirely, a circle he continues to map over again, the bard babbling away to wash away the feeling of what a prey must experience when they know predators are about, the bulky looking boots making no sound as they tread over the petals of rapidly degenerating foliage. What an image this must make, Jaskier muses albit absently. A bed of vibrant springtime flowers marred in its seemingly natural appearance only from the perfect shape of ash left by its creator.

_Fairy rings_ , sings a soft voice against his mind, gentle like the aunt who told him of such stories.

_Don’t tread across a fairy ring Julian, if you’d be so unfortunate to find one, or else the fae will surely carry you away and never think to return you._

Reverse fairy ring, Jaskier thinks slightly manically, of course the Witcher would do the opposite of a ring of flowers, how melodramatic. “Decided to be rid of me now?” he asks in an octave to high.

The black eyes close briefly before he starts to move past the brunet “Hm,” Jaskier twists his body to keep the Witcher in sight.

“Oh, alright, are we back to monosyllabic responses again?”

The Witcher abruptly stops right behind the human, Jaskier tenses and his eyes and body follow the now solid ring of ash to look upon the no longer pacing Witcher. The immortal is facing away, head down to blink at the vibrant sea he himself had given life. As he bends down silvery white hair falls to obscure his face, arm extending to the floor.

Jaskier feels the burn of his eyes for not closing, after blinking rapidly a few times he can see the Witcher pluck a single piece of the bed. The Witcher is silent, once more upright, observing his findings.

Snow hair, stone faced, and eyes glittering the Witcher tilts his head. Jaskier’s throat closes up at the sight of the buttercup in black clad fingers slowly wilt away into ash, as every other form of life he had touched before. A song begins to whisper in his ears.

A melody so sweet, full of adventure, longing, and heartbreak beats to the tune of Jaskier’s pulse. The sight he sees right here is the image he could right sonnets, ballads, epics, everything about. An unending song he believes might never end, and with that a small part of the bard dies while blowing air to a dying ember.

Oh fuck.

His voice is hoarse even after attempting to clear the sensation of his throat closing up, it's much worse than he thought it would be, making him sound like a young lad with no hair upon his body. “We truly have the most intriguing conversations, Witcher,” his voice certainly did not crack, no no, lies for all else.

The only response is a small huff, windows of whales and space not moving away from his bounty. It almost feels like a pass, for Jaskier to suddenly forget about the fist in his chest, opposing his innate ability to complain, he won’t admit the relief that comes from this brute. That unfairly ethereal brute. _The Brotherhood would surely have my head_ , Jaskier thinks, the fear he knows over the years growing about the feared Witcher that is supposed to be instilled throughout his veins is nonexistent. Jaskier didn’t believe in the Brotherhood for a long time, but he does now know that the Witcher is real. They were right on that front at least, why did they frame him as the source of all evil?

_I mean the guy is a fucking dick and nearly impossible to approach_ Jaskier muses _But he isn't evil._

Another invisible crack hits Jaskier when the ash in between the Witcher’s fingers flow out to the non-existent wind, magic floating serenely away like a leaf on the wind or a dead seal in the riptide. A spirit drifting aimlessly, all alone. _Like dandelions_ , Jaskier muses absently.

“I have clearly been cursed,” he mutters before in a louder voice that finally pulls the Witcher from whatever musings an all powerful god could have “Meitilde grant me a reprieve so that I might be spare from witchers _and their inane witchering_!”

“Hmm,”

“Oh yes I forgive you, so glad to get an apology Witcher, and I’m doing fantastic minus the whole _trapped in a nonexistent plain thank you for asking_ you are ever so kind!” The Witcher glances at him, and for a moment Jaskier thinks he might actually say something again before that moment passes. You’ve got to be fucking kidding. “How the fuck do you go from sharp quips to a nonverbal neanderthal at the drop of a hat?” he fumes, which only seems to amuse the prat “Am I never to be free of this ridiculous facsimile of banter? Doomed to forever be tasked with translating all your boorish grunts until the end of time itself?” Jaskier strums the lute crudely once with a wince, despite it not being real “Hm? Perhaps in song?”

“Would be more effective than the lute,”

The Witcher quirks a brow when the bard slips out a peel of laughter “He speaks! Why it’s truly a marvel, thought I was right about that for a moment- wait,” calloused fingertips tighten on the neck of the instrument and blue eyes narrow “Just what exactly are you implying?” Jaskier stomps out of the ring of dead buttercups to stand right in front of the Witcher “No, no, go on Witcher,” he demands with the air of someone who has gone through this exact same conversation many times before that they have clearly lost all sense of who they are speaking to.

“ _How’s my singing_?”

The lute does in fact break when he answers.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love some feedback, posted this first to see how yall might like the idea. I love the witcher and dishonored so much, i have 2 tattoos for them, so give me a reason to continue to obsess lol see you soon!


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